No Flannel Quotes

He's wearing flannel!" Alan yelped. "He's shoving his straight in my face! ~ K.D. Sarge

I settled back into his arm. "If you produce a flannel graph out of somewhere, you will make me very happy."
He smiled. He was smiling a lot these days. "No flannel graph. I do a mean shadow puppet, though. ~ Temple West

You know, I'm very particular about my sheets. They have to be one hundred percent cotton, with a high thread count. Only cotton. No flannel. ~ Ryan Murphy

I put on my thickest red flannel nightie and dove into bed. Mercifully, SanJuanna had taken the chill off the sheets with a warming pan. I intended to lie there for a while and take stock of my life. That's what you do at the end of the century, don't you? I think I actually fell asleep right away and only dreamed I was taking stock. ~ Jacqueline Kelly

Like hell he was," said the first C.I.D. man. "I'm the C.I.D. man arround here."
Major Major could barely recognize him because he was wearing a faded maroon corduroy bathrobe with open seams under both arms, linty flannel pajamas, & worn house slippers with one flapping sole. ~ Joseph Heller

Flannel shirts should be outlawed for ex husbands; I realize this now. Flannel shirts are to women what crotchless panties are to men. ~ Suzanne Finnamore

Wear flannel next to your skin, and never believe in eternal punishment. ~ Julian Barnes

Billy's voice is sarcastic, drawing her fire away from me. "Hey, Delores, it's good to see you too. I'm great, thanks for asking. The album? Doin' awesome - triple platinum. California? Fabulous, couldn't be happier. Again . . ." He cups his hands around his mouth, megaphone style, ". . . thanks for asking."

Delores's eyes zero in on him, looking him over head to toe. Not happy with what she sees. "It's called a razor; you should get one. If ancient man could figure it out, you've got a slim chance. Oh - and Pearl Jam called. They want their flannel back."

Billy's brows go up. "You're criticizing my style? Really, Cruella? How many puppies had to die so you could wear that coat?"

"Eat shit."

"Cooking again, are you? I thought the health department banned you for life the last time you tried?"

Delores opens her mouth for a rebuttal, but nothing comes out. Her glossy lips stretch slowly into a smile. "I've missed you, Jackass."

Billy winks. "Right back at you, cuz. ~ Emma Chase

I'd love to get pajamas. Good, nice and warm flannel ones. ~ Charlize Theron

She just knew that she felt weird – but literally every teenager feels weird. Who doesn't feel weird? All the music she listened to was about feeling weird. All the books she read were about feeling weird. So when she was seventeen it didn't seem strange to hang out with, like, a kid who was really into racism and another, a future truck stop mechanic, in a tent, with a ton of flannel and a bottle of Everclear or a dozen hits of acid. In a cow pasture.

That was just, like, what you did. On one level you just went along with what was going on but on another you mythologized what a cool outlier you were and so you internalized a sense of your own weirdness as a badge of pride even as you emotionally dissociated yourself from it. Everybody cool is weird. This is how she mythologized her sense of being trans without understanding that she was trans. ~ Imogen Binnie

Everything since the beginning of time was working together to make my happiness possible: and then you. You walked into the audiovisual lab in your flannel shirt ... and you fucked it up! You fucked everything up! Do you understand that? Because of you, the entire universe is ruined ... forever!
Kari, The Pavilion ~ Craig Wright

Grunge was so self-consciously lowbrow and nonaspirational that it seemed, at first, impervious to the hype and glamour normally applied swiftly to any emerging trend. But sure enough, grunge anthems found their way onto the soundtracks of television commercials, and Dodge Neons were hawked by kids in flannel shirts saying, 'Whatever.' ~ Douglas Rushkoff

He threaded his hand through her hair, tugging her closer. Her body strained toward him, her breasts all but bursting the buttons of her flannel pajamas. She swallowed the last of the candy cane as he lowered his mouth to hers.
He didn't ravage, as she'd expected. His mouth was soft and warm on hers, and the scrape of his stubbled jaw added to the thrill. She moaned and clung to him, her mind emptying like sand tumbling from a bucket.
Resist? Absolutely not. She wanted this. Him. ~ Cari Quinn

Ho threw their watches off the roof to cast their ballot for an Eternity outside of Time, and alarm clocks fell on their heads every day for the next decade,
who cut their wrists three times successively unsuccessfully, gave up and were forced to open antique stores where they thought they were growing old and cried,
who were burned alive in their innocent flannel suits on Madison Avenue amid blasts of leaden verse and the tanked-up clatter of the iron regiments of fashion and the nitroglycerine shrieks of the fairies of advertising and the mustard gas of sinister intelligent editors, or were run down by the drunken taxicabs of Absolute Reality.. ~ Allen Ginsberg

Thousands of people know my flannel knickers, and though I know this may seem flirtatious, it is not. I am a saint. ~ Leonora Carrington

My only one!
In your last letter
"My head aches
my heart is stunned!"
you say.
"If they hang you,
if I lose you;"
you say;
"I can't live!"
You'll live my dearest wife,
like a black smoke in the wind my memory will vanish;
you'll live, the red-haired sister of my heart
at most one year it lasts
in the twentieth century
the grief of death..
Death
a dead body swinging on a rope.
My heart doesn't accept
such a death..
But
be sure that, my love,
if some pitiable gypsy's
hairy black spider like hand
slips the rope
around my neck,
to see the fear in my blue eyes
they'll look in vain
at Nâzım!

And I,
in the twilight of my last morning,
shall see my friends and you,
and carry only the grief
of an unfinished song
to the soil...
My wife!
Good hearted,
golden coloured,
with eyes sweeter than honey, my bee;
why did I write you
that they want to hang me,
the trial is in the first step
and they don't pluck like a turnip
the head of a man.
Come, forget them all.
These are so far away probabilities.
If you have some money
buy me a flannel underwear,
my sciatica is acting up.
And don't forget that always
there should be good thoughts in the mind
of a prisoner's wife. ~ Nâzım Hikmet Ran

Jesus Christ, you're soaking wet. Seriously, have you been going around with all this between your legs? I can feel it through fucking flannel, honey. Oh my God, I can feel it through flannel, he said, the first words almost steady and sure and the last ones like nothing she'd ever heard before. ~ Charlotte Stein

An old lady had an Alderney cow, which she looked upon as a daughter. ....The whole town knew and kindly regarded Miss Betsy Barker's Alderney, therefore great was the sympathy and regret when, in an unguarded moment, the poor cow fell into a lime-pit. She moaned so loudly that she was soon heard and rescued; but meanwhile the poor beast had lost most of her hair and came out looking naked, cold and miserable, in a bare skin. Everybody pitied the animal, though a few could not restrain their smiles at her droll appearance. Miss Betsy Barker absolutely cried with sorrow and dismay; and it was said she thought of trying a bath of oil. This remedy, perhaps, was recommended by some one of the number whose advice she asked; but the proposal, if ever it was made, was knocked on the head by Captain Brown's decided "Get her a flannel waistcoat and flannel drawers, ma'am, if you wish to keep her alive, But my advice is, kill the poor creature at once."
Miss Betsy Barker dried her eyes, and thanked the Captain heartily; she set to work, and by-and-by all the town turned out to see the Alderney meekly going to her pasture, clad in dark grey flannel.I have watched her myself many a time. Do you ever see cows dressed in grey flannel in London? ~ Elizabeth Gaskell

I will never, ever regret stopping you from walking out of my life a second time, Kyle," she said in an emotional voice. "And I can prove it."
She reached for the buttons on her trench coat and undid them, one at a time. Then she opened the coat and let it drop to the floor.
And even if she didn't say a single word more, Kyle knew he would never again doubt the way Rylann felt about him.
She was wearing his flannel shirt.
"You kept it," he said softly. "All this time."
She nodded. "For nine years, I've held on to this darn shirt, literally dragging it across the country and back."
Kyle touched her cheek, gently brushing away a tear with his thumb. "Why?"
She paused hesitantly, and then with a tender smile, finally put it all on the line, too. "I guess I always hoped you'd come back for it someday. ~ Julie James

Beauty is a mystery. You can neither eat it nor make flannel out of it. ~ D.H. Lawrence

You like to watch?" The girl asked. "Or do you want to join us?"
"I…uh…" Oh, this wasn't hot anymore. This was just awkward, and I was so totally out of place with my flannel shirt and my socks and my hair back in a bun.
I was wearing fucking glasses. Who wears glasses to your neighbor's orgy? ~ Molly O'Keefe

I had let it all grow. I had supposed
It was all OK. Your life
Was a liner I voyaged in.
Costly education had fitted you out.
Financiers and committees and consultants
Effaced themselves in the gleam of your finish.
You trembled with the new life of those engines.

That first morning,
Before your first class at College, you sat there
Sipping coffee. Now I know, as I did not,
What eyes waited at the back of the class
To check your first professional performance
Against their expectations. What assessors
Waited to see you justify the cost
And redeem their gamble. What a furnace
Of eyes waited to prove your metal. I watched
The strange dummy stiffness, the misery,
Of your blue flannel suit, its straitjacket, ugly
Half-approximation to your idea
Of the properties you hoped to ease into,
And your horror in it. And the tanned
Almost green undertinge of your face
Shrunk to its wick, your scar lumpish, your plaited
Head pathetically tiny.

You waited,
Knowing yourself helpless in the tweezers
Of the life that judges you, and I saw
The flayed nerve, the unhealable face-wound
Which was all you had for courage.
I saw that what you gripped, as you sipped,
Were terrors that killed you once already.
Now I see, I saw, sitting, the lonely
Girl who was going to die.

That blue suit.
A mad, execution uniform,Ted Hughes

Poetry The Blue Flannel Suit